


And the Weight of the World is Lost

by IWasHereMomentsAgo



Category: Havemercy Series - Jaida Jones & Danielle Bennett
Genre: If mermaids eating fish is cannibalism there are slight mentions of cannibalism, If you're thinking I must have written this at 3am then you're completely right, M/M, mermaid au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 05:14:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWasHereMomentsAgo/pseuds/IWasHereMomentsAgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caius is a merman, Toverre works on a ship. Caius develops a crush and a little thing like not being the same species won't stop him.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Weight of the World is Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration for how Toverre can breathe underwater was taken from the wonderful Ingo series by Helen Dunmore.  
> The title is a line from Sailingsong by A Fine Frenzy.  
> I own none of the characters, especially Misty the penguin, who belongs to [aliferlia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliferlia/pseuds/aliferlia)

When the boy first stopped looking as though he was doubting his sanity every time he saw me, I was somewhat disappointed. I rather liked the idea I was making him insane, even if it was only imagined on his part. I also liked the idea that he thought I couldn’t be real; that he couldn’t fathom how I could exist was somewhat flattering. But I supposed I _had_ been following the ship for weeks now and our relationship had progressed past the early honeymoon stage full of wistful looks and nightmares about drowning (he talked in his sleep and I took it upon myself to ensure his window was open when I wanted it to be), and the time had come for us to actually converse.

“But you _can’t_ speak Volstovic,” he was telling me one night after I discovered him as the last man on deck and called him over. His statement offended me somewhat. I don’t know why he thought that just because he had legs he had some sort of claim over Volstov’s language, and I was about to tell him as much when he added, “how would you even _learn_ it?”

It wasn’t the conversation I had expected we would be having, though I thought it delightful to be surprised. “How did _you_ learn it?” I asked, but held up a hand when he opened his mouth to reply. It was rude on my part and I would have to remember to apologise for it, but we had more exciting things to consider. “Are we really going to discuss who taught us to talk? I’ve come to get you.”

He blinked stupidly at me. I found it endearing and wondered whether the pollution in the water was finally getting to me; I knew a fair few who had lost their sanity to an oil spill. “What do you mean?”

I glanced around the ship and attempted to keep my distaste to myself. “You surely can’t _like_ it here. I wanted to take you to see the sharks,” I told him, pausing before adding, “on a date.” I did so hate to be obvious, but he seemed the type who would appreciate it being spelt out for him so I would have to oblige if we were to get anywhere.

He pulled back from the side of the ship; I thought about pulling myself on completely instead of continuing to hold on to the edge but I imagined that would be slightly too forward of me. I didn’t want to scare him off completely, after all. I had somehow grown fond of him and his funny little way of polishing the masts.

“You’re mad,” he accused.  I didn’t see what my mental state had to do with any of it, really, and thought it odd he’d choose that  moment to bring it up. 

“You’re the one talking to a merman. In Volstovic, I might add,” I said, more defensive than perhaps I ought to have been, all things considered. I corrected myself before he decided not to come along. “It’s quite safe, I can assure you.”

“Except the part where I drown,” he said, pulling a handkerchief out to fiddle with. It was my favourite one. The one with the blue polka dots.

“Why would I let you drown? Or get devoured by sharks? Or leave you stranded in the middle of the ocean? Or get hypothermia? Or-”

“I only said _drown_ ,” he hissed. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a- I can’t- how am I meant to look at _sharks_?”

I wondered whether he was being difficult on purpose. “With your eyes. Come with me. You have my word I will return you in full working condition.” He said nothing, and instead stared at me with the aforementioned eyes I liked so much. He looked like how I imagined the woodland creatures we heard stories about from our freshwater brothers to look, which reminded me of a pressing question I had had for a while. “Have you ever met a squirrel?” I asked him, unable to help myself. “Is it true they drink blood?”

He continued to watch me but at my question something new and strange and altogether exciting seemed to settle over him. “Fine,” he said begrudgingly. “I’ll go with you. Fine. But you’re to give me your word I will be returned here _alive_. And that you’ll leave me alone once you _have_ returned me.”

I considered. “You have my word you will be returned alive, my dear. Do let’s hurry.” His resolve had weakened and I knew I had won, and I held out my hand to him. “Rather soon to be holding hands, I know, but as long as you’re holding on to me you ought to be alright.”

“I _ought_ to be?” he asked, and his cheeks coloured as he gripped my wrist. I did _try_ to stop myself from smiling but found I couldn’t, and instead pulled him into the water before he could change his mind, or before he could see me forgetting myself.

It was cruel of me. I should have eased him in, explained precisely how it worked in an attempt to ease his fragile nerves, but that would have taken so _long_ and I was so terribly excited that I simply couldn’t wait any longer. As we plunged beneath the surface together, his short, neat fingernails dug into my left arm,  and I gripped his wrist with my right hand to keep him from letting go. The cold would be quite a shock to him if we lost contact and I did not wish to kill my date. His eyes were screwed tightly shut as he flailed about in the water, kicking his legs to try propel himself to the ever more distant surface. His lips were beginning to turn blue and a small part of me was growing nervous. What if he couldn’t do it? What if he were to drown?

I’d never known myself to worry before, especially about this. If there was one thing I believed in, it was myself. As long as he was holding on to me, I could give him all the oxygen his little lungs desired. It was foolish of me to be anxious; perhaps it was those squirrel eyes. He simply had to stop _panicking_.

I tore my left hand out of his grip to knot my fingers tightly in his hair, hard enough to hurt. His eyes flew open and met mine. He wouldn’t understand the language we used underwater, so I would have to make do with a stern look. I pulled his hand up to his face and squeezed it in an attempt to make him understand, and loosened my grip on his hair to brush my thumb gently across his cheek, reassuring him. That marvelous shade of red crept back over it just as his legs started to slow along with the racing pulse in his wrist; red, rather than blue, was a good sign. I did understand it must be difficult for him to get used to, having his lungs fill for him without inhaling, but he’d get there. He had to. We had sharks to see and I had no plans on embarrassing myself in front of them by dragging along a corpse. 

I didn’t realise how fiercely he had been clinging on to me until he let go and allowed me to pull him along. He’d left little half moons on the back of my hand which stung as I moved my hand through the water to swim. Something about it made my chest tighten, not at all unlike how I imagined Toverre’s had been moments earlier, though I had never had trouble with breathing underwater. Maybe human fingernails were slightly toxic. I’d never thought to ask anyone.

When we neared the sharks, I stopped to turn back to him, to make sure he _hadn’t_ died on the way here and the look on his face was enough to render _me_ useless, at least momentarily. I was thrilled he was having this effect on me for I had worried I would grow bored the minute I had him underwater, but it seemed I was not to be disappointed. He was struggling to maintain an unimpressed expression, perhaps not wanting to admit that he’d been wrong to doubt me, but his eyes were bright and excited and if I had been less of a gentleman I would have kissed him. I certainly wanted to. My ribcage did that queer little squeeze around my lungs again; I would have to get that looked at by a physician. 

Toverre tugged on my arm to get my attention and frowned, obviously wondering why we had stopped. I simply smiled at him, and offered a thumbs up. I’d been looking forward to showing off my knowledge of the curious sign language humans so often employed. He looked unsure before awkwardly returning the gesture. I beamed at him, proud of myself.

I pulled him on a little further, just until I saw the shadow of a shark in the distance. I had no qualms about getting closer, but I felt Toverre’s grip tighten marginally as he noticed the creature.  I offered him another thumbs-up, but he wasn’t looking at me anymore; his gaze was instead fixed on the approaching shark. It was slow - old, which was convenient because that meant she was intelligent enough to be aware Toverre was with me, and if she were to attack I would not hesitate to to fight back. Not that sharks usually attacked us; but they could be threatened or annoyed just like any creature and among us there were some who refused to treat anything other than their own kind with respect. I didn’t blame the sharks for devouring them; I would take great pleasure in eating them too, were I a shark. She swam ever closer, and I did think I was being subtle about ensuring I remained between her and Toverre, but the offended glint in her eye told me she knew exactly what I was doing. I made a mental note to find her and explain the situation later on. She would understand.

Once she had passed us, I turned back to my date who by now had returned to stabbing me with his toxic fingernails. “ _Enough?”_ I mouthed.

He nodded eagerly. Perhaps I shouldn’t have started with sharks. I had surely scared him off. I supposed, even if he never wanted me to take him out again, at least it had been a memorable date for him. But I _did_ so want to take him out again, and I did rather consider taking him somewhere else to prove to him I didn’t necessarily have to strike fear into his heart whenever I tried to seduce him, but he had been through quite enough for one night, and so I returned him to his ship.

He gasped as we broke through to the surface, the cold air catching in his throat striking a harsh contrast with the warmth of the water (thanks to my hand around his wrist).  I helped him back onto the boat before I slowly let go, wishing I’d thought to tell him to ready a towel before we’d gone off on our adventure. The moment my last finger left his skin, he stiffened, and rushed off inside, leaving me sitting alone on the deck. I wondered whether I ought to wait for him. It hadn’t gone particularly well; maybe I should save him further embarrassment and disappear. Perhaps in the morning he would think me a dream.

“Um.”

The smile was already on my face before I turned. He _had_ come back! He was wrapped snugly in a blanket (without blue polka dots, unfortunately) and looked as though he was trying very hard to think of something to say.

“Not to worry,” I told him cheerfully. “I ought to be going, anyway.”

“You’re going?” he asked, sounding somewhat disappointed.

Did he not want me to? That terrible feeling had returned to my chest even though the nail marks on the back of my hand had long since faded. Maybe he injected the poison into me and it was now coursing through my blood stream turning every major organ it met to ash. How exciting! “I think I ought to, don’t you?” I asked.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, I suppose so. But you’re to meet me here at eleven o’clock tomorrow evening and you’re to harbour no thoughts at all of getting me back in that water until we’re in a more reasonable climate, do you understand? If you’ve given me a cold I’ll be terribly cross with you.”

He wanted to see me again! I smiled my most charming smile. “Understood,” I told him, and pushed myself off the deck back into the water. Something unusual was happening to my face and I rather feared it may have been a _blush_ ; I didn’t really have any choice but to escape quickly and with my dignity intact. Perhaps he’d think me mysterious for it. 

The fact I couldn’t stop grinning made the poor shark think me insincere when I went to deliver my apologies, but I thought it worth it for Toverre wanted to see me again!  Eleven o’clock seemed _years_ away.

* * *

When I pulled myself on deck, Toverre was nowhere to be seen. I wondered whether I had gotten the time wrong; I’d been counting since ten o’clock which was when the deck seemed to clear as people headed to bed, but maybe in my excitement I’d gone too fast. I started counting from where I’d left off. _Three thousand six hundred and eight. Three thousand six hundred and nine._ I got to four thousand two hundred and seventy seven before Toverre appeared.

“Hello,” I said. 

He blinked at me. “You’re early,” he told me irritably. “I was going to set it out and- I didn’t even know what you _ate_ , it was a _stupid_ idea but I wasn’t going back in the water in _this_ weather and I didn’t know what else to do to make you come back-”

“Have you made me food?” I asked. “Have you made me _fish_?”

He groaned. “This was a stupid idea. You’re a stupid idea. You took me to see a _shark_ and I’m making you commit cannibalism-”

“Did you _cook_ it?” I interrupted before he could start rambling. “I’ve never had cooked fish before. Can I try it?”

He stared at me, perhaps wondering if I was making fun of him, so I tried very hard to look as  sincere as possible.  Still unsure, he offered me a piece of fish.

I discovered Toverre was much better at dates than I was. Above water we could at least talk in a common language, and I could learn more about him and his ship and he could learn more about sharks and my penguin friend, Misty, who had dreamt of seeing a camel ever since the seals  had told her they’d heard from the whales they could breathe fire.

Toverre began to look tired after a while, and I recommended we resume our conversation the next evening. “Why don’t you bring me what _you_ normally eat?” he asked. “I can try it.”

“I would be delighted to, my dear,” I told him, wondering how many fish I could catch before the next evening. If I were lucky, perhaps I would even catch a human child! We usually saved those for Christmas, but this could be a special exception. He smiled sleepily at me, and I wondered whether the second date was still too early to be thinking about kissing him. It was never something I had considered before.

“Before you go,” he said, and I turned to see his face very close to mine. He coloured immediately, and, to my horror, I found _myself_ beginning to blush too. Maybe he’d put something in the fish and we were both having an allergic reaction. Maybe I was allergic to _him._ I was about to tell him as much but his mouth on mine made the words quite unintelligible, brief as the kiss was.

We were both quite silent when he pulled away, and before I could say a thing he exhaled a garbled mess of words which he then kindly translated to, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” 

“I shall see you tomorrow,” I confirmed, smiling as I pushed myself back into the water. I had no time to waste. I had fish to catch for our next date!


End file.
